Chapter Five

September 2013

“So here it is.  Kurt picked the furniture for you.  If you don't like it, we can get you something else.”  Rachel held the curtain back and Blaine surveyed his new, curtain-walled room in his sisters Bushwick loft.  There was a bedframe and mattress set, a nightstand, a narrow dresser, and a rolling clothes rack.  That was it.  Not even a desk.  His room at home was three times this size. Actually, just the bathroom he'd shared with Rachel, until she moved to New York, was bigger.

“Those are your new uniforms.” Rachel pointed at the clothes rack, stocked with private school uniform components – blazers, dress shirts and pants, pullover sweaters and even sweatshirts and sweatpants with "NYADA-Prep" printed over the schools comedy/tragedy mask logo.

“Hm.  Red blazers with blue piping,” he observed. “Bizarro-Dalton, I guess.”  He plugged his laptop in and set it on the night stand. “Thanks for getting all that for me, Rae.  It was a lot of trouble to go to.”

“Don't be silly!  I was glad to take care of it for you.  Need any help unpacking?”

“Not really.  I don't have a lot … I gave away my Dalton uniforms to Nick, since they were practically like new and he's on a scholarship and needs to save money.  And he's my size, so he can get some use out of them this year.  I left most of my other stuff at the house for now, rather than drag it all to Cooper's for the summer and then here.  I'll get some of it next time we go home to visit.”  He swung his suitcase onto the bed and opened it. His signature bright designer polo shirts were folded neatly in rows, as his dads had taught him.  He reached for a hanger and started transferring them to the rack one by one, carefully arranging them in rainbow order.

“How was that, ‘hanging with Mr. Cooper' for the last few months?”

“Well, you know Cooper.  He was pretty busy. He went on a lot of auditions, and he had a new creditscore.com spot he was working on.  It was fun when he was around.”  He pulled out the folder where he kept his NYADA Prep information and glanced through it before setting it in a tray on top of the dresser with a frustrated sigh. “I'm not sure about going to NYADA Prep, to be honest.  It's all the way in Manhattan. That'll take me forty-five minutes each way on public transit.  Maybe I should just go to public school here in Brooklyn.”

"Blaine, I already looked into all the options.  I checked out the local public high school, and it's out of the question.  Trust me.  NYADA Prep is best for you.  It's a great performing arts high school, which is what our dads would want for you.  Plus it's right near my campus, so we can go in together most days.”  Rachel opened the bottom drawer and put in a stack of pajamas.  

He quietly retrieved the pajamas from the bottom drawer and put them in the second-to-top drawer, where he had kept them at home.  He didn't want to argue about school with Rachel, who was trying so hard for him.  Maybe she was right and this would turn out to be good for him.  He loved performing and NYADA Prep was supposed to be great for that.  Maybe he could even do some auditioning here now that his face and arm were fully healed and he was feeling a little stronger emotionally than he had when … when it first happened.  NYADA Prep allowed its students to take time for auditions and performances.  Yes, he supposed Rachel knew best.

He took out a flat bubble-wrapped parcel, and pulled at the tape, uncovering a picture of Hiram and LeRoy singing together at the family piano back in Ohio.  “I took this one last Channukah,” he said, holding it up for Rachel.

Rachel smiled softly, and nodded toward the small stretch of wall over the dresser.  “There's a hook there.  I had a picture of Finn and me up, when this was part of my room.  Well, before I started seeing Brody, of course.”

He hung the picture of his dads carefully, and unwrapped a second, much older photo taken of his biological parents, Cooper and himself at JC Penneys a decade ago.  He placed it on the dresser under his dads picture.  “I'm sorry I'm disrupting the setup here,” he said softly.  “It was crowded enough before, I'm sure, and now it's even worse.”  

Rachel came to stand next to him, slipping her arm around his waist.   They stood looking at the picture of their dads together, remembering.   “Don't worry.  We just took a couple feet off each of our rooms to make space for you.  Nobody minded.  I'm really glad you're here, Blaine.  Family is important.  And you and Cooper and Kurt are all the family I have left.”

“And Grandma Berry,” Blaine reminded her.

Rachel's face stiffened.  “Not anymore.  Not after what she said at our dads' shiva.”

“Oh, Rachel, don't hold a grudge over that.  I don't expect her to want to take care of me. It's a lot to expect when I'm not really her grandson.”

She shook her head vehemently.  “Yes, you are!  You're Daddy's son, and my brother.” Rachel's words erupted from her amidst surprisingly violent tears.  “She's spitting on Daddy's grave by not being there for his son, and she hurt you.  I will never forgive her for that.  Never.”

Pulling at her waist gently, Blaine tried to reason with her. “But Rachel, don't forget, she lost her son and is grieving too.  You're her only other relative. Please ... don't be angry at her because of me. Were going to make it, were all going to be okay.”  

He offered her a handkerchief and waited for her to dry her eyes.  Hesitating, he ventured, "Rachel... Do you think you might want to go for some grief counseling? The grief counselor Coop and I went to in LA helped a lot, and maybe the one you got for me here could see you too."

Rachel took his shoes out of the side pocket of his suitcase and knelt down to put them under the bed. “I'm just ... too busy."

Blaine studied his sister as she went to the clothes rack and started spacing the shirts out evenly on their hangers.  "Maybe youre keeping busy to avoid processing your feelings, but you have to do that emotional work sometime."

Rachel looked over her shoulder and gave a little smile. "Did your old counselor tell you that?"  He nodded, and Rachel sighed, "Blainey,  I process my emotions my own way.  In my art."  She shut and zipped up the empty suitcase and stowed it under the bed, while he finished arranging things tidily in his dresser.  Blaine knew well enough that pressing the issue was pointless, so he dropped the topic for now.  

“By the way … Thank you for everything you're doing for me, I appreciate it.  I know it hasn't been easy …” he ventured, changing tack.

“It's okay.  I'd do anything for you, Blainey-bear.  Anything to protect you and make sure you're taken care of.  I owe that to our dads.”

“Just take care of yourself too, please? I worry about you.”

She wiped her eyes a final time and squared her small shoulders.  “Don't.  Like you said, we're going to make it.  We'll make it work.”

~ * ~

October 2013

Kurt opened the door to the nurse's office at NYADA Prep and looked in.  There were a number of students sitting or lying down in the office, taking up every bed, chair, and even sitting on the floor.  He spotted Blaine slumped in a chair near the window.

“Hey, Blaine,” Kurt said, shutting the door.  “What's going on, buddy?  You look pretty green around the gills.”

The school nurse answered, “We had a problem with a batch of chicken salad in the cafeteria.  Food poisoning. Are you Blaine's brother?”

“No,” Blaine said quickly. “What are you doing here, Kurt?”

“Well, I'm your secondary emergency contact.   Your sister got a callback from the Funny Girl producers after you left for school this morning.  You know Fanny is her dream role.  She must've turned her phone off for the afternoon so she wouldn't be distracted.”

One of the other students stood up and barreled past Kurt toward the open bathroom door.  It slammed shut and some alarming sounds emanated out.

“Are you here to pick him up?  We've got our hands full,” the nurse asked hopefully.  “Oh no.”  She grabbed a basin and shoved it under a teenage boy's face,  just in time.  But Kurt saw that a chain reaction was about to take place among the other patients.

"Watch him for fever, keep him hydrated, and go to the ER if the diarrhea or vomiting lasts more than twelve hours," The nurse told him over her shoulder.

“Do you need my ID?”

The nurse spared it a hurried glance.   “That's fine, Mr. Hummel.  Just sign on that clipboard over there and take him home.  Sips of fluid, soda crackers if he tolerates that - - whoa, Jonathan, use the wastebasket - -“

Kurt signed the sheet and took some paper bags from the stack on the nurses desk.  “Ready, Blaine?”

Blaines lips were pale and there were dark circles under his eyes.  He nodded and felt on the chair next to him for his messenger bag. Kurt grabbed it and slung it over his own book bag. “Here, you take these barf bags, and I'll carry this for you.”  

He took Blaine's arm and supported him out the door.  “We'll get you home and into bed.  Try to take slow, deep breaths, okay?”

“Thanks, Kurt,” Blaine whispered, leaning slightly on Kurt's arm.  "It was getting pretty gruesome in there. Like Bridesmaids, only not funny this time."

“Yeah, I noticed. But youll be home soon, and then you can rest."

"Rest in peace, is more like it. I think Im dying."

"I doubt that," Kurt chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Cmon, dead man walking."

Kurt was debating whether to hail a cab or risk taking Blaine on a subway as they stepped out of the building together, when he saw Adam hurrying down the sidewalk toward them.

Adam greeted him with a sweet smile.  “Hey, Kurt, I thought we were meeting on campus.  What are you doing - - oh.  Hello, Blaine.”

“Hi,” Blaine whispered back weakly.  He had the barf bag open and ready, in shaking hands.

“Adam -- I was about to call you.  I just got a call from Blaine's school nurse - - well, you can see he's really sick.  I'm going to have to cancel our plans and get him home.”

“Oh … well.  I'm sorry you're ill, Blaine – Could one of your other friends or your sister take you home, possibly?”

“I - - I don't know,” Blaine whispered, going even paler and sweatier.  

"Rachel got a callback, and half of NYADA Prep was re enacting The Exorcist back there," Kurt answered. "Blaine needs me."

Adam took Kurt's hand appealingly.  “I hate to be a jerk, but I've had these tickets for weeks,” Adam coaxed.  “Can't you see Blaine home, and then come back into the City?  We might still make the play if we skip the sushi.”

Blaine's face turned completely ashen at the word ‘sushi'.  A moment later he had thrown up - - overflowing the small bag onto the sidewalk, splashing Adam's hipster shoes.  

“I'm - - I'm so sorry,” Blaine gasped, still gripping his paper bag.  Adam set his face grimly, teeth gritted in obvious irritation.  Kurt threw him a disappointed glance.

“It wasn't your fault,” Kurt soothed Blaine while guiding him toward a trash can.  “You couldn't help it.  Just . . . put that in there.”   Blaine let the soaked bag drop into the can, half a second before he heaved violently yet again.

A moment later, he looked up, his face beaded with sweat, hands tightly clutching the edges of the garbage can.  He looked miserably at Kurt.  “I'm so embarrassed, your boyfriend's shoes - -“

Kurt ripped open a packet of antibacterial wipes from his messenger bag.  “Blaine. It's okay.  He understands it was an accident.  Right, Adam?”

Kurt pried Blaine's hands from the can and wiped them down gently, while Adam reached out and slipped another wipe out of the packet Kurt had left on a nearby ledge. “Right,” Adam replied with a grimace, as he cleaned his own splattered shoes and tossed the dirty wipe into the can .  “Don't feel badly over it, Blaine.  Could happen to anyone, really. Just - - Kurt, will I see you later at the play, once hes settled at the loft?”

Kurt sighed.  “I don't know, Adam.  I can't just leave him alone.  Food poisoning can be dangerous.  Santana will have left for her shift already,. Brody is an idiot and he's never around the apartment without Rachel anyway, and shes at her callback and I don't want to interrupt that.  Look, maybe one of the Apples can take the extra ticket?  I'm so sorry.  You understand, right?”

“Sure,” Adam gave in, eyeing Blaine, who was swaying on his feet and pressing a damp wipe to his face.  “Do what you need to do.  Get him home.  I understand.”  Adam leaned over and kissed Kurt.

“You're a sweetheart.  Have fun tonight.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I'd say the same, but I imagine the odds of that are pretty low.  Feel better, Blaine.”

~ * ~

Blaine lay on the couch, watching a really weird old television show that Kurt was obsessed with, about four girls at a prep school … but the girls seemed to be living in a dining hall with the school's cook, which didn't make a lot of sense.  But maybe all-girl boarding  schools were different from the private schools he went to.  He cuddled up happily in the soft blanket Kurt had draped over him  and peeked out at beautiful Kurt.

“Think you can manage some flat ginger ale now?” Kurt asked from the kitchen, bustling around adorably  like always.

“Thatd be nice.” He was sorry Kurt was missing his play,  but having the apartment to himself with just Kurt really was a special treat.

Kurt brought the drink and set it down with two soda crackers on a plate on the coffee table.  “Slow sips.  Then just take tiny nibbles on these crackers if you feel okay.”  He settled on the couch near Blaine's feet.  “Oh, this is a great one.  It's the one where the mean Bates Academy boy asks Jo to the dance instead of Blair.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh.  You aren't interested in this classic television show, then?” Kurt demanded, laughing.

“I'm sure it's totally great, Kurt, but … well….”

“What?”

“There's a Project Runway marathon on right now.”

Kurt looked at him sternly.  “Why didn't you say something earlier?”  He clicked the channel over.

“Thanks again … for being there for me today, Kurt.”  Blaine looked down at his hands a moment and drew a breath. “The thing is … I'm feeling a little better now. I havent thrown up or ... well, you know ... in almost an hour.  If you want to call Adam and meet him at that play … I'll be okay here by myself. You can just make it, if you leave now.”

Kurt pulled Blaine's feet into his lap and started rubbing them absent-mindedly.  “Eh.  I don't really feel like going all the way into Manhattan again.  I'm having fun here relaxing.”  He smiled at Blaine easily, and turned back to the TV.  Blaine felt that little flutter with Kurt's name on it starting up in his chest.  Instead of watching Tim Gunn, he preferred to watch Kurt's profile as the light from the television played across it.  I love you so much.

They sat together companionably for several hours, chatting and laughing and watching TV.  Blaine got sick a few more times after all, but with the exception of  those episodes, he spent the evening in heaven with his own personal angel.  

The dream was broken all too soon by Rachel, who burst through the door to the loft  and ran directly to the center of the room.  He and Kurt looked up at her expectantly.

“Oh.  Mah. God. Guys!  Oh my god!!”  she shrieked, causing Kurt to choke in surprise on his diet soda.  “They loved me! They offered me the part on the spot!  I'm going to be a star on Broadway!”

Kurt shrieked, and leapt from the couch.  He grabbed Rachel's hands, jumping up and down and screaming along with her at an impressive combined decibel level.  Thrilled at her news, Blaine tried to get up to hug his sister and jump up and down with her along with Kurt.  But a wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he sat down suddenly.  In mid-squeal, Rachel's face fell and she was at his side immediately.

“Blaine?  What is it?”

“Nothing. I came home sick from school with Kurt. I have a little food poisoning, it's nothing.  I'm so excited for you, Rae!  Your dream role!" Blaine protested, waving off her concern.

“Food poisoning!  Let me get you something for your stomach.  Hang on,” Rachel instructed, jumping back up and running to the bathroom.

Rachel came back with her hands full from the medicine cabinet.  “Kurt, you had plans tonight, didnt you? Im so sorry! You missed out because I had my phone off--"

“Thats okay,” Kurt said, smiling kindly at Blaine.  “We had fun, right Blaine?"

Blaine nodded happily as Rachel sat him gently back on the couch and pulled the blanket back over him. He added, “It's always fun when you're here, Kurt.  Even when I'm dying of botulism.”  

"Dont joke about that,"  Rachel said, taking Blaines temperature with a digital ear thermometer. "No fever." She sighed with relief and smiled at Kurt gratefully. "Thanks again. I dont know what wed do without you. Really."

Blaine squeezed Rachel's hand, and beamed up at her and Kurt.  Kurt had given up his big night and Rachel was so concerned about him that she had forgotten her amazing news for the moment, all to take care of him.  He needed them and they had come through, and he was so grateful.  Choking a little, he whispered his thanks along with Rachel's.  

Eyes suspiciously misty, Kurt leaned down and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead.  

"No need for thanks. Were family."